Stevie looked down the length of the road and saw the comically large Liberty High sign. There was something eerie about being out here alone, even though it was just a roadside on a bright summer’s day. A lot of bad things happened in this town in a short time between December 1977 and July 1978. Seven months or so of tragedy. It was grim.

She stuck very close to the grass edge of the road as she cycled back toward the town center, more than once getting off the bike and wheeling it by her side out of nervousness of someone coming along the road and striking her from behind. By the time she got back, Camp Sunny Pines had changed. The children had arrived. They came in cars and buses, in ones and twos. They came with their shiny backpacks and their scooter helmets. They came, screaming their high-pitched screams over the peace of the lake.

Obviously, this was no surprise, but still, the landscape was so totally altered by their presence that Stevie was confused. She had started to know this place, its long stretches of field that always smelled of fresh-cut grass, the little brown buildings, the outdoor pipes, the signs. It had been hers first, then shared with a few people her age, but now? The children were everywhere.

It suddenly occurred to her what she had actually signed up for.

She wandered past as parents slowly detached crying children from their legs, or watched as happy children ran off, unaware that their parents were still there.

Janelle and Nate were two of the last counselors left in the dining area. Breakfast was largely closed up and over, but Stevie managed to convince the woman behind the counter to peel back the plastic wrap and let her have some cold pancakes. She didn’t even need silverware or a plate. She put them in a napkin and ate them by hand, dry. She snagged a cup of the substance that passed as orange juice and sat down with her friends. As soon as she did so, she felt a presence at her back. Nicole sat down on the bench next to her.

“You in town this morning?”

Stevie sipped some acidic orange juice–like drink and hmmed.

“I know you have special permission from Carson, but the kids are here now.”

“I know,” Stevie said. Because she did know. She could see the children, who were being rounded up by some of the counselors and led off to their bunks in the distance.

“So that means you have a job to do.”

“I am,” Stevie said. “It took longer to get back from town . . .”

“I’m just saying,” Nicole said, then said no more and got up and walked away.

“She likes you,” Nate said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Janelle added. “I have it all covered.”

She produced a binder, inside of which were a series of color-coded spreadsheets, each tagged with sticky notes.

“I’ve got all the crafts set up by age,” she said. “Now, let’s see . . .”